Useless Droll
by SuffocatingRomano
Summary: A collection of the daily exchanges between and boy that's given up his family, and a bodyguard that hardly had one. evil!Myles Fowl/Male OC (my friend's). Drug use. Sex. Bashing of the rest of the Fowl's (Myles is not a nice boy)
1. Laughter

_((_**BEFORE YOU READ THIS**_, understand that D is NOT my character. She's my friends-I have written these for her. D and Myles live in North Korea (Myles hired D to smuggle him in, and was utterly shocked by the condition of the place. Since finding out, he's decided to become, basically, a form of a terrorist-he wants to turn off major cities power supplies, show them what it's like to live in a third world country, to try and help his cause, so to say). D is Korean, obviously, and was the only one to survive the famine that killed his family. He's not had a very fun past._  
_D is rather muscular, but not the big and obvious type like Butler. He's quick, graceful, and very playful in spirit, but won't hesitate to kill (or maim, or tor ture...) or wreck havoc for the fuck of it. His hair is a bit long, but not too terribly so, and his ethnicity is pronoun. (Yes, I know, he's a stud, isn't he? He's also not someone you'd want to get close to.)_  
_Myles, on the other hand, looks a lot like Artemis, but he insists on keeping his hair a blond color (via dyes) to at least look somewhat until his brother, whom he hates being compared to._  
_We're going to have so much fun, isn't that right?))_

"I don't particularly see the point of this."

D smiled to himself, but handed Myles the knife anyway. "You want to learn how to defend yourself, right?"

"Well, yes, but," Myles paused, and looked to the side, frowning. "I don't want to accidentally hurt you."

D laughed, big and hearty. Myles blushed in annoyance. "What?"

"Oh, little one," D wiped a tear from his eye. "You can't possibly hurt me."

That had the desired effect. Myles lurged at D, and he expertly danced around his boyfriend. Myles managed to turn without stumbling, and slashed the air where D had been a second ago.

Suddenly, he found the knife knocked out of his hand, and he was pushed up against the wall, defenseless.

"See?" D mused, the smile practically radiating from him in a most nauseating manner. "You can't even touch me~"


	2. Nausea

Myles hurled.

Moisture slipped past his eyes and dotted the toilet as he felt himself shake. A few soft footsteps came up behind him.

"_Go away_," his voice was filled with a deadly venom that they both knew meant nothing. He felt his hair gently pulled back, and he attempted to bat D's hands away without success.

"It's alright. You can let it out."

Myles attempted to hiss, but instead, he sobbed. More pain tightened his chest and he threw up, once, twice, three times, until all he was doing is dry heaving.

D stayed silent, gently petting his hair while the other rubbed his back. Once it was over, Myles fell against the man, and attempted, badly, to control his weeping. D held him against his chest, muttering soft whispers of affection in his ear.

Finally, Myles grew quiet, before slipping to sleep in the mans arms.


	3. Scream For Me

"Say it again."

Myles practically screamed, arching his back into D's, bordering on climax but not quite there yet. D bit the outer rim of his ear, thrusting Myles hips up and down on his cock, the chair creaking under him. "_Say it_."

Myles felt his head begin to grow fuzzy. "Harder," he groaned, barely ale to make out the word.

"Again!"

"H-harder!"

D hissed, and was off the chair in a second, throwing Myles down on the bed but still managing to stay connected to him. At this angle, the thrusts got deeper more quickly.

Myles seemed to scream with every motion, so D lurched down, smacking his lips against his lovers as everything seemed to knot, faster, heavier, fuzzier—

Myles ripped away from his lips and scratched blood from D's back as they managed to both push each other into climax.


	4. Pain

"I hate this."

It comes between doses of morphine. Drops of acid. Licks of candy. It creeps in like bursts of dye in glasses of water, branching out, slowly morphing it into something new, something distorted. D likes to pretend he knows how to help—how to fix it—but he doesn't. He never will, probably.

Myles sniffs, and his jaw tightens, a sob raking through his whole body and out his mouth, but he attempts to muffle it. The sound is downright pitiful. D shifts, and his hand reaches out, gently, wiping a tear, maybe two, away from the younger boy. It doesn't help. Nothing helps, not really.

"I just…" Step. Sob. Two steps. "I hate it. I hate it so _much_, D, I just…"

D likes to pretend he pulls Myles close, and wipes him free of the pain of the world. Like to pretend he magically fixes everything with a wave of his hand.

But, that doesn't happen. Myles wipes his eyes and, in the morning, they'll forget it ever happened. Maybe it's a lesson. Maybe it's a gift, meant to show just how emotional life could be, and it's not like D has ever been happier then he is now.

Instead, though, it's just sad.


	5. Patience

D giggled.

"Shut up," Myles snapped, loading the bow quickly—and badly. The arrow fell and, in his attempt to grab it, so did the bow. He cursed, and D roared with laughter behind him. Face flush red, he retrieved the items, much more carefully.

Myles really didn't see the point of this. Sure, D was teaching him self-defense—but since when had anyone actually_ used_ bow and arrows? He was familiar with guns, steadily becoming comfortable with knives, and could actually handle throwing a punch or two—most unlike his sheltered, rich older brother, who taunted him ever so thoroughly with that disgusting goody two shoes "killing people is bad, Myles; turning off major power supplies is bad, Myles…"—what more did D want? And what did it have to do with a more medieval weapon than was practical?

D calmed his laughter—although the smirk never gave way—and slid up next to his business partner (and boyfriend, and trainer), gently holding both Myles arms in his own.

"Here. I'm not going to show you again, little rabbit, but a last demonstration couldn't hurt. Just like this."

Myles pulled his arm as instructed, the arrow effortlessly sliding into place with D's guidance. He took a deep breath, eying his target as D whispered in his ear ("Patience, relax, it'll work…"), before releasing the arrow in a _woosh_.

The arrow narrowly avoided the (large) target board. It landed straight in a tree quite a walks away standing out like a sore thumb.

D couldn't help himself. As his voice reached a shrill pitch in his laughter, Myles snapped the bow in half and stomped away, not even bothering to snark .


End file.
